


There's No One Else Worth It All

by BigSciencyBrain



Series: Solace [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Internalized Victim Blaming, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Steve coming to terms, Winged Loki verse, conversations about consent, mild blood play, nonconsensual violence, solace, this fic is not a sex ed lesson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2123001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigSciencyBrain/pseuds/BigSciencyBrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki needs specific ingredients for a spell and Steve has to face their past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Do you trust me?” Loki asks as he squeezes water from the sponge in his hand. He watches it drizzle over Steve’s shoulder and rejoin the water in the bathtub. The tub isn’t large enough to accommodate his wings so this is their compromise; he sits on the end, feet and calves in the water, with Steve immersed between his legs.

Steve’s head rests against the inside of Loki’s left thigh, eyes closed as he soaks in heat from the water. He shifts slightly, turning his head up and smiling. “Of course I do.” He lifts the fingers of his left hand from the edge of the bathtub and waves them, light glinting off the golden band on his ring finger as though that answers the question with finality.

“I would like to create a binding,” Loki continues. He keeps his voice low, dipping the sponge into the water and letting the water run down over Steve’s skin.

“What’s that?” Steve asks, his voice faraway. Loki can tell that he’s near enough to sleep.

“A spell, I suppose, is the closest word you have on Midgard.”

Steve hums, pressing his head back against Loki’s thigh. He is nearly boneless with the heat of the water and the weariness of a long day spent in the service of SHIELD. “What does it do? Your spell.”

“It will allow me to find you. Wherever you are, no matter where you may go.”

That cuts through Steve’s blissful calm, as Loki knew it would. He shifts enough that he can tilt his head back and look up at Loki, blue eyes still mostly hidden beneath tired eyelids. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“It is merely practical.”

Steve closes his eyes, appearing to lapse back into sleep, but Loki knows that he is thinking over the implications of what he’s asked. Finally, he takes a heavy, deep breath and leans forward, running his fingers through damp blond hair. “What do you need to do it? The spell.”

 _So clever_ , Loki muses as he moves his hands to Steve’s shoulders and searches out the remaining stubborn knots. “Blood.”

“My blood,” Steve repeats.

Loki has approached this moment carefully, feeling his way through with stops and starts. “I know it is a great deal to ask.”

“Guess a pinprick won’t do it then?” There’s tension in Steve’s voice now and Loki can feel it begin to seep back into Steve’s muscles. “Can I use it too? Will it help me find you? If I need to.”

In truth, Loki hasn’t considered that. “I do not know,” he admits. “It may.”

“Won’t know unless we try?” There’s a tremor in Steve’s voice and he’s gone from relaxed to pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

“We won’t.” Loki keeps his touch light on Steve’s shoulder. He slides the back of his fingers along Steve’s neck, feeling the shiver at his touch. “You do not have to decide tonight. I have made preparations, but there is nothing that cannot wait.”

Steve turns his head to the side, laying his temple against his knees. His eyes are open now and the muscles in his jaw work as he thinks. Finally, he leans back again, keeping his hands on his knees, and looks up. “I trust you,” he says with wide eyes. His voice is steady, but Loki can see the tell-tale signs of distress that Steve hides so very well.

“Relax.” He presses just the tips of his fingers against Steve’s shoulder. “I will only be a moment.”

He ignores the dripping water as he leaves the tub and heads for the kitchen. There is a ceramic bowl that will suit his purposes perfectly. Still, he hesitates as he retrieves it and part of him regrets asking, wishes he didn’t have to ask. But he knows with certainty that Steve could never put down his shield and be truly happy; Loki would never ask it of him. Theirs is a life that breeds enemies and seeds violence and Loki is not willing to risk the chance that Steve could be taken from him without ensuring some way to find him.

Steve is still in the tub when he returns with the bowl and roll of gauze, but he can feel the tension radiating from him even with the still hot water.

Slipping back into place, he wraps his arms around Steve and bends down to kiss him deeply. He savors the warmth of Steve’s lips, tasting his skin and sucking in his breath. The beating of Steve’s heart is rapid beneath his skin; he can feel the pulse against his palm. Steve reaches up and buries one hand into Loki’s hair, tightening into a fist.

Steve breaks the kiss first, turning his head. He keeps his hand buried in Loki’s hair. “I’m ready.”

There’s too much in Steve’s voice that Loki wishes he had time to untangle, too much within Steve that he is still unsure of. He leans back, getting his balance. Gently, he takes Steve’s right hand and extends his arm. The bowl rests well enough on the side of the tub. Loki has to lift his leg out of the tub to get the angle right. Rather than a knife, he shifts his wings momentarily to their solid form and tugs a single feather free from the inside of his right wing.

“Loki,” Steve whispers. His eyes are glued to the feather.

Loki strokes his thumb along the inside of Steve’s wrist, slow and easy. He doesn’t tell Steve it won’t hurt because they both know it will and the pain isn’t what Steve is afraid of. He makes no sudden moves, allowing Steve to track each motion of the feather as he presses it against the inside of Steve’s forearm. Blood wells up, slowly at first and then enough to begin to drip down sun kissed skin and into the bowl. Steve turns his face away, his breathing shallow and a little rough.

Once he has enough for the working, Loki carefully binds the wound with strips of gauze. The cut is paltry enough that he knows it will have vanished from Steve’s skin completely in a day or less, but the act of binding up the wound feels significant.

“Now, it is my turn,” Loki says softly. He tries to smile when Steve looks up, startled.

“What?” There’s a note of panic in Steve’s voice.

“It requires blood from both of us.” Loki offers the feather and holds out his forearm. He sees the conflict play out in Steve’s expression and the moment that he crumbles, reaching for the feather.

Steve keeps his eyes averted. He turns around and comes to his knees, making sure his hand is completely steady before he presses the feather against the inside of Loki’s forearm. The pain is slight, barely a twinge; Loki watches a bead of sweat trickle down the side of Steve’s face as blood drips down into the bowl.

“Is that enough?”

“Yes.” Loki sits still as Steve sets the bowl aside and reaches for the gauze, carefully wrapping up the cut.

“What’s next?” Steve asks, still not meeting Loki’s gaze.

“It will be ready by dawn. But it will keep. We can wait.” That is a lie but he can sense that Steve is unsettled by the blood.

“Okay. I think.” Steve runs his hands through his hair. “I think I’m going to go for a walk. Get some air.”

“Steve,” Loki begins.

“Just need to stretch my legs.”

Loki watches him climb out of the tub and wrap a towel tightly around his waist as he leaves the bathroom. He’d taken a risk and perhaps pushed Steve too close to memories of their past.

Their lives hold a clear demarcation line between what was and what is; a line that Steve holds as though it were his last stand against the end of the world. They speak little about it and the marks of what they were have long since vanished from Steve’s skin. At night, Loki wonders if it would be better if those wounds had left scars so that Steve would not be able to shut them out as completely as he does. He is well; Loki would be preparing an entirely differently working if he believed otherwise. But he has learned to be wary of what is hidden beneath Steve’s surface.

He sets the tub to drain and collects the bowl. Now that his mind is churning over Steve’s reaction to this portion of the ritual, he thinks it will not be nearly enough. He can augment the working with animal blood and be no less for it.

By the time he has dried himself and dressed in a soft pair of pajama pants, Steve has vanished into the night. On an impulse - he chides himself for it because the Other Loki would never have been so weak - he searches out his phone and sends a quick message to Natasha, querying if she is at Stark Tower. SHIELD takes her away more often than not these days.

Her response is quick. _Here. What’s up?_

He thinks over his next message carefully, considering the tone of his words. _Has Steve been there?_

_Trouble?_

The answer to that is unknown. Something about the ritual had unsettled Steve enough that he felt unable to remain in their home, but Loki is not certain if it amounts to trouble. And although he is on civil enough terms that Natasha allowed him to have her phone number, it came with the stipulation that it only be used for emergencies. That he used it at all betrays the uneasiness he feels.

 _I do not know,_ he finally replies.

Some time later, after he has selected a bottle of wine and poured himself a third glass, he hears his phone ding as it receives a message.

_He’s here. I’ve got him._

He leaves it at that and finishes the bottle. The wide hearth of the fireplace is ideal for mixing the remaining ingredients. He stares down at the bowl filled with their blood, his thoughts twisting in slow circles. Although it hardly matters what animal’s blood he adds to the mix, he is unwilling to choose rats. That leaves him few options that won’t result in a look of horror on Steve’s face, and Steve will inevitably ask.

It is something to do other than worry over Steve, so he conjures his black armor and slips out into the night.

**

Natasha hands Steve a beer, not asking if he wants one or not, before she curls into the papasan chair with her own. “You just happened to be out for a walk and decided to say hi?”

“Can’t a friend stop by for a visit?” Steve switches the beer to his left hand and takes a drink. The cut on his right forearm is itching already.

“What happened? You and Loki get into a fight over something? Did he leave wet towels on the bathroom floor one too many times?” She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real irritation in it, only fond amusement. “I’m not your therapist.”

“You’re my friend,” he says, far too seriously for her to believe him now if he tries to say nothing’s wrong. “We’re fine.”

“Really,” she deadpans and gives him the look she usually saves for hopeless Level One SHIELD agents.

“We’re fine,” he repeats, and he means it. They are fine; they’re happy. He doesn’t think he’s ever been happier in his whole life than he has since he and Loki moved into the remodeled warehouse. The cut itches again and a cold shiver runs down his spine. “He wanted…he wanted to do some sort of magic. A way for him to find me, no matter where I was.”

“Magic GPS?”

“Basically.”

Natasha takes a swallow from her beer. “Makes sense. You know Fury would chip you if you’d let him. Could come in handy in this business.”

“I know, I know. It’s not…I want him to be able to find me, if I’m…if there’s a reason he doesn’t know where I am. And he said there’s a chance it could work both ways, that I’d be able to find him too.” It all sounds perfectly logical and rational as he says it aloud.

“Then what’s the problem?” She’s watching him with that careful look she gets when she’s trying to puzzle out where the trap is and how to find a way out of it.

Steve sets his beer aside and shrugs off his jacket, careful not to disturb the gauze wrapped around his forearm. It’s stained with blood, dark now and mostly dried. He shows her, as though that explains everything, and can’t bring himself to meet her gaze.

“He needed your blood,” she says softly.

He nods before pulling his arm back against his side. There wasn’t anything he could say to make her understand the torrent of emotions that had come awake as he’d watched Loki’s feather slice into his skin. He wanted to hate it, wanted to feel nothing at all; he’d wanted anything else but the slick, dark hunger that crept up his throat and took hold.

“Steve.”

“He needed his blood too, so I…I cut him just like he cut me.” He reaches for his beer. “It made me sick. Hurting him like that. Even though he wanted me to do it.”

She leans forward, her expression earnest. “I’m not the one you should be talking to about this.”

He shakes his head quickly. “What am I supposed to tell him?”

“I meant your actual therapists.”

“They cleared me, said I was good.” He stares down at the bottle in his hands and feels as though the world is tilting out from under him again. “I’m better, right? Nothing’s wrong with me anymore.”

“Oh, lapochka,” she murmurs as she uncurls from her chair and settles on the couch beside him. She takes his right hand, laying his forearm over her lap and tugging at the gauze until it begins to unwind. Once it’s stripped away, she begins to stroke her fingers lightly down the inside of his forearm, never quite touching the wound itself. “Humans are constantly breaking and cracking and falling to pieces. And constantly putting themselves back together. Even you. Especially you.”

He watches her fingers dance over his skin. “I can’t go back. I don’t know if I’d be able to get out again. That glass cell on the helicarrier; I can’t go back there.”

“You’re not going back.”

“He asked me once, if I still wanted him to hurt me.” He keeps his gaze down, unsure of what he might see in her eyes and unsure of exactly what he’s most afraid to see. “The truth is, I do. I want it and I don’t know why.”

“Why did you want it before?” she asks gently.

“Before. It was,” he stops to put his thoughts together. “It was because I was already in pain. Every second of every day, even breathing was agony. But it wasn’t physical pain. I wanted him to hurt me because, just for a little, I hurt more on the outside than I did on the inside and that…that was easier. It’s not like that now. I’m happy, I am. I don’t understand why I still want it. He asked me if I was okay with this.” He lifts his arm for emphasis. “And he was worried about me. Worried I wouldn’t be okay. But I wanted it. Wanted to tell him not to stop…” he trails off.

She reclaims his arm, continuing the soft caresses against his skin. “Have you considered the idea that maybe there’s nothing wrong with you?”

“It can’t be right, Nat. What kind of person wants someone to hurt them?”

“All kinds of people.” She curls her fingers around his. “Spend ten minutes on the Internet and you’ll realize that.”

“It feels wrong.” He shook his head, finally daring to look at her face and meet her gaze. “He never wanted to hurt me. I can’t ask him to. Not again. Never again. I can’t put him through that.”

“You can do it safely. Sanely. Figure out what it is you really need and work something out, the two of you.”

He thinks about the sick twist in his stomach when it had been Loki’s blood and wonders if that’s what Loki had felt, night after night, as he’d done far worse. Some nights, he can still hear Thor’s words thundering in his ears that he’d never known Loki to physically harm any of his lovers; just Steve, because Steve had wanted it.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

He manages a smile and tightens his fingers around hers. “I know. And I know you all thought I was insane…still think I’m insane…but he loves me. I know that. I’ll never doubt that.”

“We never figured anything in this universe could reform our favorite, neighborhood God of Mischief and Lies.” She punches him lightly on the shoulder. “Guess we underestimated good old-fashioned apple pie.”

“Ha ha.” He takes a deep breath. “Thanks, Nat.”

“I expect an IOU.”

Shifting, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her against his side. “You’ve got all the IOUs you’ll ever need.”

“Ready to go home?”

“Not just yet.” He wants to go home, but the cut on his forearm is still pulsing with a dull pain and he doesn’t trust himself enough to go back.

“Alright, but you’re stuck watching Supernatural and I’m four seasons behind.”

“Is that the one with the dragons?”

“You’re hopeless, Rogers.”

**

There’s a fire burning and a hint of smoke on the air when Steve lets himself into the refurbished warehouse. It’s almost dawn and the guilt is sour in his throat. He’d been a coward and run away instead of having a conversation. Natasha has drilled that into his skull well enough.

“Loki?” he calls.

He hears the beat of wings - which only happens when Loki wants him to know he’s there - as he moves toward the fireplace.

“Remove your clothes,” Loki says, coming out of the shadows suddenly.

Steve whirls around. He watches Loki land with all the grace of an eagle; he’s dressed in nothing but jeans that hang low on his hips and the sight of him makes Steve’s throat go dry. “What?”

“You heard me.” Loki moves toward the fireplace with a smirk on his lips, reaching for a ceramic bowl filled with a dark liquid. “I need you completely naked.”

“Oh, okay.” Steve shrugs off his jacket and sheds his t-shirt. He laughs, nervously, as he strips down the rest of the way, setting his clothes aside. “Look. I shouldn’t have walked out like that. I know. I should’ve been able to talk to you. It’s not that I don’t want to talk…about it.”

“When you are ready. I can wait,” Loki replies absently. When he turns, his wings silhouetted in firelight, he’s holding the bowl in his hands.

Steve flinches when Loki touches him, fingers slick with the liquid, because it’s warm and smells familiar. “That smells like blood.”

“It is,” Loki answers, his focus on the designs he’s spreading over Steve’s skin.

“Is it…that’s…”

“Yours, mine. But mostly sheep’s blood. From a butcher.”

“What butcher is open in the middle of the night?” Steve breathes, trying to hold still under Loki’s touch.

“I didn’t say it was open.” Loki’s lips quirk up into a half smile. “I left money on the counter.”

He shivers as Loki’s fingers curl over his hip, spreading blood. “But we should talk. Right? I mean…”

“Did your spider tell you that you should talk to me?”

“No. Yeah. I mean, she did, but she’s right.”

Loki pauses for a moment before continuing. “When you know what it is you wish to say, I will listen.”

It’s impossible not to be distracted as Loki spreads the mixture down the back of his thighs and by the pungent smell of the blood mixed with whatever else Loki added to the bowl. As the blood dries, it itches and Steve feels as though his skin is crawling. After awhile, he realizes that it has to be more than just the blood. Waves of buzzing, almost electric, are washing over his skin as Loki continues to paint.

“Is is supposed to feel like this?”

“You call it magic.”

“And this is the binding?”

“Yes.”

Steve tries not to look over his shoulder as Loki works up along his spine. “How long is this going to take?”

“Once it dries, only a few moments.”

“Are we.” Steve hesitates. “Are we good?”

Loki straightens up to examine the patterns he’s drawn in blood over Steve’s skin. “You worry over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Loki.”

There’s a soft, affectionate smile on Loki’s lips. “Hold still. It will be settled in a moment.” He leans in close, lips only a breath away and fingers sliding into Steve’s hair. “And then, I am going to take you to bed.”

“What did you have in mind?” Steve breathes against Loki’s lips.

Uncontrollable shivers begin to race beneath his skin and then he’s shivering because he’s hard and Loki’s hand is around his penis. It’s a little too close, a little too similar, to the last time he stood naked in front of Loki in this same warehouse. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall forward; he tries not to think about the last time and everything it meant. Hot and cold wash over him in cycles. He can feel Loki pressed against him; he feels strong, lean fingers against his skin.

“Loki,” he manages to gasp. He wants to ask Loki to bind his wrists and pull them up over his head. He chokes on the words because what he wants is everything he can never ask for.

“Hush.” Loki presses his forehead against Steve’s. “You need to trust me.”

“I do. I trust you.”

“No, you don’t.” Loki kisses him gently, sweetly. “But you will. In time.”

“Loki.” Heat like fire blazes across Steve’s skin and he doesn’t have breath or words to do more than return Loki’s kiss. All he can manage to say is, “I love you.”

It’s over in a moment and his knees give way, sending Steve tumbling forward into Loki’s arms. He opens his eyes in time to watch the designs drawn in blood over his skin blaze brightly and then sink into his skin like the ink of a tattoo. As he watches, even that begins to fade and leaves nothing but smooth, unbroken skin.

“It’s done,” Loki whispers against his temple.

There’s a tightness in Steve’s throat that doesn’t quite go away when he swallows. “Bed. Now.”

He lets Loki carry his weight, leaning against him as they make their way to the bedroom. His limbs are heavy and unresponsive, but he urges Loki on as they tumble onto the bed. Words fumble on this tongue and he thinks he asks for _more_ and _harder_ ; it blurs together until he’s not sure what he’s said and what he kept silent.

After, when they’re tangled together in a mess of limbs and bliss, he forgets that he needs to tell Loki the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve falls into a trap and it's time he and Loki had a long conversation.

Natasha’s words sound in Steve’s mind for several days. 

_Spend ten minutes on the Internet._

After a week, he gets a text from Natasha that suggests he search for the word dominatrix.

He tries, but doesn’t get further than typing the word into the search bar and ends up staring blankly at the screen, never pressing enter. Of course, he knows he could ask Loki. His imagination can provide an endless parade of possibilities for how that conversation would go. He can imagine that Loki might be tolerant of his request, but also disappointed. Perhaps it would start innocently enough, a well-meaning attempt to ease the gnawing desire, only to slowly poison the happiness they’ve found. What if Loki thinks Steve is asking because he’s not satisfied with what they have now?

Closing the laptop, he leaves it behind on the kitchen table, wishing he could close that part of himself just as easily. The impatience he feels is with himself, with his inability to push it out of his mind and simply be happy with what he has. 

He climbs the spiral staircase and onto the roof. The familiar outline of Loki’s black wings is clear behind the fogged glass of the greenhouse. He runs his fingers over the wedding band on his left hand, reminding himself that Loki has chosen to stay here on Earth with him. A piece of paper from the State of New York meant less than nothing to Asgard and the rest of the universe; it had been a sentimental gesture on Loki’s part to agree to a small ceremony and a pair of wedding rings. 

The door of the greenhouse is open, letting in the warm summer air and Loki is seated at the potting bench harvesting seeds from one of the plants.

“Hey,” Steve says softly as he steps inside. Loki’s greenhouse always feels like stepping into another world. The sounds of the city are barely audible inside and there’s a sense of stillness in humid, thickly scented air. “I was thinking of heading to the market. Do you need anything?”

Loki hums in answer, finishing his work with the tiny seed pod in his fingers before he turns around. “Fresh lemons, perhaps. I had planned halibut for dinner.”

Steve smiles; he still can’t believe this is actually his life and not a dream. It’s everything he thought he’d given up when he became Captain America, everything he thought he’d never be able to have. 

“If you are not in a hurry, I can finish my work here and accompany you.” Loki nods to the pile of seedpods on the bench.

“I don’t want to keep you. You’ll barely know I’m gone.” He leans in to give Loki a quick kiss on the lips and lets it go a moment longer than intended, and then another moment longer than that. Kissing Loki is everything that alcohol used to be, before the serum took that away from him. “If you think of anything else you need while I’m out, give me a call.”

He leaves Loki to his herbs. The city has that sense of lazy relaxation that only happens on summer days that aren’t so hot they raise tempers as well. There’s activity in several the old buildings around the warehouse and he’s encouraged to see a bit of revitalization return to the neighborhood. Although neither he nor Loki are in a hurry to have neighbors, knowing that people value and want to save the old buildings of New York City gives him a sense of pride in his city. He lets his thoughts drift as he walks to the market, watching the people around him and listening to the chorus of car horns, voices, and chaotic, unidentifiable background noise. 

The market is an explosion of color, sound, and smell. He has good memories of wandering among the merchant stalls with Loki. Overall, they have more good memories than bad and he believes that counts for a lot. He buys two bouquets, one of roses and one of lilies, in addition to a half dozen fresh lemons. There are basic staples that he needs to replenish, like onions and garlic, as well as odds and ends, the spices and herbs that Loki can’t grow in the greenhouse but favors in his cooking. All together, he leaves with two sturdy, canvas bags filled to the brim and overflowing with flowers.

On the return trip, he finds his usual route home blocked by a large truck and has to double back, taking unfamiliar side streets and back alleys. There are old businesses, with their quaint storefronts and minimal square footage, now shuttered and empty. A few have managed to eek out an existence, no doubt hoping that a renaissance will come and breathe fresh air into the old neighborhoods.

He sees one sign that appears new, swaying in the gentle summer breeze. There’s no name on the sign, only a symbol he doesn’t recognize but seems oddly familiar. When he slows, noting the Open sign hanging lopsidedly on the door, he’s surprised to see a woman working on the window display inside the store. Her long dark hair is pulled back into loose braid that sways as she works; she’s not quite tall enough to reach what she needs even with the step stool she’s using.

Tucking both bags under one arm, he lets himself into the store. “Hello? Ma’am? It looks like you need some help.”

“Oh!” She turns around, eyes of startlingly vivid blue are wide with surprise.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I just thought you could use a hand.” He motions to the curtain rod she’d been struggling with.

“Are you always a good Samaritan?” Her smile is bright; the deep red lipstick suits the sharp cheekbones and narrow chin. 

“It’s kind of in my job description.” He sets his grocery bags down carefully on the floor before moving closer to check out the situation. The curtain rod is a dull, aged bronze and braced with ornate brackets on either end so it won’t come falling down. From the drape of the fabric, he can tell the curtains are heavy and old. The rings appear delicate and match the brackets. When she holds out one hand, he takes it without thinking and helps her step down. 

“Well then, if it’s your job.” She waves at the pile of cloth on the floor. “I can hand it up to you.”

He steps up onto the stool and takes the corner of the curtains. They’re made of a thick velvet that his fingers sink into and the clasp of the ring is finicky. “Why the curtain? Don’t you want people to see what you’re selling?”

“My customers value discretion,” she answers with a note of amusement in her voice.

“Oh.” Glancing over his shoulder, he sees a narrow sofa and two chairs with a bare coffee table between them. There’s a bookshelf, nondescript art hanging on the wall, and a business-like desk with a computer and neatly organized notebooks. In the back, a nondescript door gives no indication of where it might lead, though he knows there must be a second and third floor to the building. There’s nothing in the space that gives him any indication of the type of business. He tugs at the curtain and works the next hook, keeping his questions to himself. 

She continues, holding up the curtain fabric patiently. “I thought I could add a window display. Give people a hint or two. For those who don’t know that my services are what they’re looking for.”

He’s finally getting the hang of the complicate clasps and moving more quickly now. “Like consulting?”

“I’ve never heard it called that before, but I suppose you could think of it that way.”

“What would you call it?”

“I’m a Dominatrix.”

He fumbles the clasp in his fingers and it takes three tries to get it to catch. When he reaches for the next one, he sees that she’s smiling. The fact that she’s wearing blue jeans and a baggy t-shirt with a fuzzy looking cat on the front doesn’t help him try to sort out what he thinks she means.

“Does that bother you?” she asks lightly.

“Oh, no! No, of course not.”

“Are you interested?”

“I’m happily married,” he answers quickly.

“Most of my customers are.”

“To a man,” he adds.

“Does he satisfy you?” The expression on her face appears to be genuine interest. “I apologize. I’m so used to asking that question. It’s hard for people to admit there’s something lacking in the bedroom, especially when they love their partner deeply. But there’s no shame in honesty, you know.”

He tries to focus on the curtain rings. “I’m not unsatisfied.” 

“Are the flowers for your husband? He must be a very lucky man.”

“I’m the lucky one.” He counts five more rings and it feels like an eternity passes before he reaches the last one.

“You know, sometimes the one you love can’t give you what you need.” She smiles up at him, her hand resting briefly on his arm. “Not at first. Not if they don’t know what you need. I see that a lot. People searching for something they don’t understand. I help them. Teach them.”

He settles the curtain into place, spreading it out so it drapes evenly and blocks the view from the street. There are too many questions buzzing inside his head and he doesn’t dare ask any of them. In the back of his mind, he can hear Natasha’s voice scolding him for not seizing the opportunity. 

Her smile is no less bright for his silence. "Here, take a business card.” She fishes a small piece of paper out of her back pocket and holds it out. “I’d love to meet your husband.”

He takes the business card because it’s the polite thing to do and slides it into a pocket. Wishing her good luck with her business, he hurries to gather up his bags and out the door. He focuses on getting home, then he focuses on putting away the food and getting the flowers into water. Loki is still in the greenhouse on the roof and he doesn’t want to interrupt again. He slips into the second bedroom they’ve turned into a make-shift armory and finally pulls the business card out to look at it. The same vaguely familiar symbol is printed in one corner. There’s an address, phone number, and business hours.

He tucks the card into one of the gun cases and leaves a note on the kitchen table to let Loki know he’s gone for a run.

**

The business card burns like a hot coal in Steve’s jacket pocket.

SHIELD has kept both him and Loki busy. That’s what he tells himself as he walks home from Stark Tower, once again walking past the small store with the strange symbol for a name, and he tells himself that’s why they haven’t had sex since that night. He knows Loki is starting to wonder and he doesn’t have an explanation to give. It’s all so tangled up inside his head. He loves Loki and the physical intimacy - sweet and tender - between them is priceless. But he can’t ignore the underlying hunger for a type of intimacy that is darker and more violent.

He’s walked by the store a dozen times, glancing at the window display. The inside is hidden behind the heavy velvet drapery and the items displayed in the window are innocuous enough. There are a handful of books with titles he never quite finishes reading, a pair of furry handcuffs that look like a gag gift, and delicate leather gloves clearly meant for a woman’s hands. Still, it takes him another week before he finally turns the doorknob and lets himself into the store. A dainty bell sounds above his head. The woman he’d met before is seated at the desk, her hair once again pulled into a braid. She smiles brightly, standing up from the desk to greet him.

“I’d hoped to see you again,” she says, holding her hands out.

His fingertips tingle when her hands touch his, but it’s gone in a moment. “How’s business?”

“I get by.” She smiles again. “What about you?”

His throat is suddenly dry. He’s finally found someone who might be able to answer his questions and now he can’t find the words. “Good. Keeping busy with work.” It’s the safe and easy answer that he’s been telling everyone.

She tips her head to the side, her smile turning soft. “I haven’t asked your name.”

“It’s Steve.”

“Well, Steve.” She motions to the sofa and follows him as he takes a seat. “Why don’t you tell me why you came in tonight?”

“Just wanted to make sure your curtains were still up.” He ties to smile but he can tell she’s not buying it. “It’s complicated.”

She eyes him speculatively, tapping one index finger against her chin as she considers him. “I’m all ears.”

He swallows hard. The Captain America voice inside his head is screaming that he needs to get out. “I should go.”

Her hand settles on his shoulder. “You came back for a reason. Let me help you.”

Nodding to the room around him, he tries to move to safer ground. “How does it work? What you do?”

“It depends on the client. On what they need. Most of the time, they don’t have any idea what they want when they first walk through that door. I help them discover their desires and needs.” She pulls her legs up under her, sitting curled into the corner.

“I’m not looking for sex.” He doesn’t want to be unfaithful to the vows he’s sworn to keep, even if they mean next to nothing on Asgard. There’s not a fiber of his being that wants to stray from Loki. He rubs at his wrists, feeling guilty. The fact that he came back is proof that the thought of having someone other than Loki give him what he wants has, at the least, crossed his mind.

“Most of my customers aren’t. Sex may or may not be part of it, but it’s always more than that.” 

“What do you mean?”

She takes a deep breath. “Would I be correct in assuming that you find it difficult to trust people? Perhaps due to your line of work. Perhaps you struggle with intimacy.”

“I don’t think so,” he stops, unsure. His line of work is the definition of trust issues.

“Have you talked to your husband about what you want?”

He shakes his head quickly and gets up, unable to sit still. “I can’t. I can’t ask him to do anything like that. Not ever.”

“And how long do you think you can go on like this? At war with yourself and what you need.” 

Burying his face in his hands, he tries to take deep breathes. No wonder Loki had been worried about a little cut and some blood; he’d probably known that Steve would go spinning off into the darkness again.

“Let me help you,” she says softly.

He feels her fingers curl around his wrists; the tingling sensation pricks at him again. Slowly, he lowers his hands, staring at his wrists.

“I can give you what you want.” 

“No.” He shakes his head. He doesn’t want this. He’d only come in because he wanted to understand what it meant. “No. I’m sorry.”

Her smile is the same as before but there’s a split second where she appears to shimmer or blink, like a glitch in reality, and he sees cruelty and satisfaction beneath her carefully concerned expression. The fingers around his wrists suddenly feel cold. He recognizes the sensation against his skin.

Magic.

“Amora,” he breathes out.

Red lips curl into a wicked smile and dark hair fades to the familiar blond. “You always were clever for your kind.” 

When he tries to pull away, he finds himself unable to move. “What do you want?”

“You’re merely the bait. And you were so _easy_ to catch, my delicious little lamb. Now we wait for your wolf.” 

She pivots and walks toward the door in the back of the shop. When she motions with one hand, he has no choice but to follow after her. His wrists are bound tight with an invisible binding and he can feel the brush of magic around his throat. Whatever he’d expected to find behind the door, it wasn’t an empty room. The space is barren, with the studs of the walls showing through and dirty wood planking beneath his feet. This had been her trap, a empty promise tucked into an abandoned building. His arms are jerked up suddenly, pulling him off of the ground.

“Don’t worry, little lamb,” she purrs. “I happen to know that you will enjoy this a great deal.” Her breath is warm against his face when she leans in close. “Feel free to scream. There’s no one to hear you.” 

Gritting his teeth, he bows his head and squeezes his eyes shut. He knows Loki will find him and that is worse than anything Amora can do to him. Because Loki will find him and he’ll know why Steve came here and he doesn’t know if they’ll be able to recover from that. He doesn’t know if Loki will be able to forgive him. Amora laughs as she cuts through Steve’s t-shirt with a knife and strips it away.

“I heard that you favor a blade,” she murmurs, dragging the knife edge down his ribs.

He doesn’t make a sound. 

**

Loki is reading when twin bands of skin on his wrists turn dark red, a mimicry of physical reality. He goes still, staring dumbly at the mottled pattern. He sets the book aside. By the time he reaches the last step of the staircase leading down from the bedroom, he is dressed in black armor rather than jeans and a t-shirt.

Sharp pain lances through his ribs; though it is only an echo, he recognizes the cut of a knife.

Steve is not far, Loki can feel that as well. He moves with purpose, but does not rush. The streets and alleys are thick with shadows in the late afternoon; there is no reason to hide himself or his wings as he walks. He has already weighed the possibility that Steve has fallen into a trap. It is annoyance that he feels when he realizes that someone had laid the trap so close to their home, right under his nose, without his knowledge.

A small storefront catches his eye. There is a painted rune on the sign above the door and he knows instantly who is waiting for him.

“If you attempt to stab me in the back, Skurge, I will flay you alive,” he snaps irritably. He doesn’t look or turn around when he hears heavy footsteps on the street behind him.

With a glance at the window display, he lets himself into the store and a bell jingles overhead. He pushes his questions and misgivings into the back of his mind and keeps his expression a blank mask. There is no one in the Nine Realms who doesn’t know what Loki is willing to do to the enemies of Captain America, Amora has counted on that to ensure an audience. Though he has to wonder why she’s sought him out after so long. He glances back once, unsurprised to see Skurge standing behind him, and feigns a weary sigh before he opens the back door.

Amora turns to greet him, her smile wide. There is blood on the knife in her hands. “Loki, I am so glad you accepted my invitation. Though I must admit, you are early. The fun has barely started.”

Loki channels his anger into his wings, turning them sharp and vicious, rather than give her the satisfaction of seeing it on his face. In the center of the room, Steve is hanging by his wrists with his head bowed. There is blood trailing down his chest and back, soaking into his jeans. He doesn’t look up even though he must know Loki is there and Loki thinks he sees tears on his face.

“I can see why you enjoy him so much. He is simply delicious. Would you like to join me?” Amora leans in to press her knife into the skin of Steve’s lower back, drawing beads of blood. Loki feels an echo of the pain in the same spot on his back. “Excellent binding, by the way. I would love to dig it out of his skin and see how it works.”

“You could have simply called,” Loki says, his tone of voice bored and uninterested. “This is a rather elaborate way to invite me over for a chat.”

Amora laughs. “This was simply good fun, my old friend. And he was so desperate for it, I hardly needed to try. You really should take better care of your pets. If you don’t give them what they need, they do tend to stray.”

With a sigh, Loki pretends to examine the shell of the building around him and forces Skurge to move as well, no longer where Loki can’t see him. “I was in the middle of a good book, Amora. Please do get on with whatever it is you wish to talk about.” When she pouts, he crosses his arms and glares.

“Fine.” Amora turns away from Steve, no longer interested in sport. “There have been rumors in Asgard. The Allfather has gone mad, they whisper in the night. And Thor is vanished.”

Loki stiffens. “Thor can take care of himself.”

“The Allfather sent him away, no one knows why or where. Even Heimdall cannot find him.”

“And you tell me this because you are ever concerned for Asgard and Thor?” he scoffs, shaking his head.

“I am telling you because it is high time you stop this.” She waves dismissively toward Steve. “You are _Loki_. You waste time on this pathetic Realm, surrounding yourself with mortals and playing the docile dog. Asgard is ripe for the taking! The Allfather’s mind is gone and Thor is absent, there is none who can stop us. Join me and we can rule Asgard together.”

“I have no care for Asgard.”

“Fool,” she spits at him. “What keeps you here? Him? He is nothing. An animal for slaughter.” Steve jerks when the blade of Amora’s knife embeds in his thigh, but he doesn’t scream.

Loki uses the echo of pain to fuel his anger. “If you leave now, you will leave with your lives. Say one more word or remain one more second and I will scatter your pieces across the Nine Realms. Pray that our paths never cross again, Amora.”

Amora opens her mouth to speak, but must see something in him that stops her. In a moment, both she and Skurge are gone. Steve falls boneless to the floor. Loki hurries forward and reaches for the knife, pulling it out of Steve’s leg. He presses his hand against the wound, blood spilling out over his fingers.

“Steve,” he begins, but Steve doesn’t raise his head or look up. “Let’s go home.”

He helps Steve limp to the door. Although it is only a few blocks to their home, Loki flies the rest of the way, Steve held tight in his arms. He half carries Steve inside and triggers a new set of enchantments he’s been gradually weaving around the building. This time, anyone who attempts to gain entrance will be in for a nasty, violent surprise. He heads for the bathroom where he can better care for Steve’s wounds and eases him onto the tile floor.

Steve doesn’t resist as Loki strips away the rest of this clothing. He keeps his head lowered and eyes closed.

“What were you thinking?” Loki wipes away blood with a damp cloth. The cut in Steve’s leg is the deepest, but even that is not so serious that he will not heal in a few days time. His hands shake with anger and relief; he is furious with Amora and Steve both.

Steve pulls his knees up against his chest, hands clenched into fists. There is aching despair in his silence and Loki can see it as though etched into every line of his body; he is a statue carved from misery. Rocking back on his heels, Loki thinks he is seeing, for the first time, a glimpse into what Steve went through before they reunited. He is so used to seeing Steve’s strength and his easy compassion that he is unsure what to do.

“Should I call Natasha?” he asks. Immediately, he knows that was the wrong thing to say. Steve pulls more tightly into himself and Loki realizes he is crying.

 _He doesn’t want me to see him this way_ , Loki thinks. 

Though perhaps the suggestion of Natasha was worse because it implied that Loki didn’t want him this way either, or couldn’t accept him this way. Rubbing at his forehead, Loki finishes wiping away what blood he can reach. He leaves the first aid kit beside Steve and tells him to get cleaned up. He wishes Steve would talk to him.

He sets the kettle heating to brew tea made from the healing herbs he’s grown and takes a pair of soft pajama pants from the bedroom. It takes coaxing to get Steve to uncurl enough to put the pants on, more coaxing to get him to leave the bathroom. Rather than the bedroom, Loki wraps one of the many woven blankets around his shoulders and helps him lie down on the thick rug before the fireplace. Since it is summer, the hearth is empty now, but perhaps still soothing. When the tea is done, he carries two mugs from the kitchen and places one beside Steve. Retrieving his phone from the bedroom, he keeps his gaze on Steve as he makes a call. 

“Loki,” Natasha’s voice comes through the phone.

“Have you heard from Thor?”

“Not in a few weeks, but that’s not really unusual.”

“There may be trouble.” Loki turns away. It hurts to see Steve like this, staring blankly ahead. “Amora believes Thor has gone missing from Asgard.”

“Heimdall?”

“I have not tried asking. There is another matter, more pressing, that I must see to right now.” He has to trust that Thor is too stubborn to get himself killed on whatever fool errand the Allfather set him on.

A pause. “Is Steve alright?”

Loki glances back, wondering. “If you hear anything of Thor, you will let me know.”

“I’ll see what I can find.” A pause. “Do you need me to come over?”

“It is best that you do not. For now.” 

“Understood.”

He ends the call. Carrying his tea, he returns to the living area and takes a seat on the rug beside Steve. He remains silent, watching Steve and sipping his tea, until the sun has set and there is only night beyond the windows. Steve’s tea has long since gone cold and Steve has barely moved. When Loki shifts, thinking to make them both something to eat, Steve finally breaks the silence.

“Are you going to leave?” he whispers.

“Leave?”

“Leave me.” Steve bows his head again, eyes closing. He reaches for the ring on his left hand, rubbing his fingers over it.

Loki stares. “What?”

“I couldn’t…I can’t…ask you. Not after what I put you through, before. I didn’t know it was Amora when I went there. I just thought she was…and I wanted…” he trails off. His expression twists with unspoken agony. “If you want to leave, I’ll understand.”

Dumbfounded, Loki sits back down and tries to sort through the bits and pieces of the puzzle in front of him. He wants to laugh at the idea that Steve could be so clueless about so many things, including himself on occasion. Then again, although he’d known this conversation would come, he hadn’t realized how deeply tormented Steve was over it. He should’ve known.

“Rest. Then we will talk.” Loki presses his lips against Steve’s hair as he gets to his feet. “I will make dinner.”

“I know I fucked up,” Steve starts, his voice breaking.

“Steve.” Loki cuts him off with a finger against his lips. “Your tea has grown cold. Would you like me to warm it for you?”

Steve finally looks up, brow furrowed. His eyes are red from tears. “You’re not angry? I don’t understand.”

“Of course I’m angry. I’m angry that Amora harmed you.” Taking Steve’s hand and the untouched mug of tea, he pulls Steve up onto his feet and along with him as he heads for the kitchen. “I’m angry she used you as bait, I’m angry that I did not realize she was nearby.” 

He pushes Steve gently onto one of the stools at the kitchen table. The mug of cold tea goes into the microwave for a minute. He searches through the refrigerator for whatever leftovers he might be able to pull together into a meal.

“Why aren’t you angry with me?” Steve asks.

“Would you feel better if I were?” He fills his arms with various containers and unloads them onto the table. When the microwave sounds, he retrieves the tea and places it in front of Steve.

Steve looks at him, bewildered. “Maybe.”

“You think I should be angry because you think you should feel guilty.”

“What?” Steve presses the heel of his palm against his forehead. “Of course I feel guilty. I went to someone else instead of coming to you. I let someone else…do things.”

“No. You didn’t.” Loki retrieves a loaf of bread and begins laying out the ingredients to make sandwiches.

“Loki. You saw what…what I let her do to me.”

“Do you understand the concept of consent?” Loki keeps his attention on the sandwiches, spreading spicy mayonnaise over the slices of bread. “It seems to me that you don’t.”

“I went there. That was my choice.”

“You said you didn’t know it was Amora. She used a glamour, an illusion, to deceive you into believing she was someone else.”

“Yes.”

“What happened after that was not your fault.”

“But I shouldn’t have been there.”

Loki pauses before reaching for the lettuce, choosing his words carefully. “Did you go there looking for someone to hurt you?”

“I just…I just wanted to ask some questions.”

“And you went to someone you believed could answer those questions.”

“Yes.”

“How does that make it your fault?”

“Because I should’ve,” he stops, flustered, and runs his fingers through his hair. “I shouldn’t have even been there. I should’ve been stronger than that. I should’ve stopped her, fought harder…something.”

“So, you were deceived by one of the most skilled sorceresses in the Nine Realms, captured and bound by magic against which you have no defense, and you are somehow responsible?”

Steve frowns. “Yes?”

“Let me explain a little secret of magic.” He goes for a knife to slice the tomatoes, keeping his voice light and even. “In magic, intent is potent. The same spell, with different intent, can result in vastly different outcomes. The magic I placed beneath your skin is not as simple as your GPS, though it performs a similar function. It does more than tell me where you are. It gives me information about your state of being as well.”

“What does that mean?”

“When Amora cut you, I felt it.” Loki meets Steve’s gaze. “I felt the bindings around your wrists. I felt everything.”

His face pale, Steve bows his head again. “Then you should be angry.”

“Had you been willing, Steven, I would not have felt anything at all.” He layers the tomato slices over the lettuce. There is leftover chicken from the night before; he begins pulling the meat apart in strips and adds it to the sandwich. “Intent makes the magic. The spell is meant to tell me when you are in danger, not just in pain. Had you been with another and they had harmed you with your full consent, I would have been none the wiser.” He lets Steve think over that information as he finishes the sandwiches. Taking a seat on the second stool, he starts on his sandwich.

After several minutes, Steve reaches for his sandwich and, in a moment, he is eating as though ravenous. He finishes quickly and then drains his tea as well. “Thank you.”

Loki nods. “You are welcome.”

“I should’ve come to you first.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve fidgets nervously. “What happens now?”

“Now, I need a glass of wine, and perhaps five more after that,” Loki says wryly. “Then we will have a long conversation about our sex life.” He is rewarded with a bright blush spreading over Steve’s face and laughs out loud when Steve heads for the wine rack.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Steve being all domestic and talking about stuff. There's also sex. Very fluffy. There is zero plot here.

They start by setting rules. 

“First rule.” Loki sprawls over their bed dressed only in a pair of jeans, a glass of wine held loosely in one hand; his wings lazily stir the air around them. “We need a safe word.”

Steve writes that down. _Safe word._

“When you need to stop, say the word. When I need to stop, I will say it. No exceptions. We do not resume until the reason for using the word has been resolved. Agreed?”

Steve nods. “Does the word have to be anything in particular?”

“Something that cannot be confused when caught up in the moment. We don’t have to agree on a word now, only that we have one and that it is respected.”

“Okay.”

“Second rule.” Pushing up on one elbow, Loki sips at his wine as he thinks, his gaze directed somewhere over Steve’s shoulder. “The second rule is that what we do is negotiated. You tell me what you want, I tell you what I am willing to do, and vice versa. Once negotiated, there will be no deviations.”

Steve writes that down as well. “Do you think we really need that?”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “If you want something, you will need to ask for it. There may be acts you desire that I am not willing to participate in. We may have to find a compromise.”

His tone is gentle, but Steve still flinches and ducks his head to add another note. “Alright. Rule number two, everything is negotiated.”

“Rule number three. We need to establish a way to care for each other afterward. This may or may not need to be part of the negotiation, but we must both be willing to address what the other needs.” Loki waits a beat, watching Steve carefully. “I will ask you not to walk out of our home to avoid a conversation. If you ask for space and time alone, I will give it to you.”

Under Rule Three, Steve adds _No walking out_. “What else?”

“That will get us started. There may be more rules we discover we need as we go.” Loki reaches out to place his hand on Steve’s knee. “Steve, what we had before was unhealthy.”

“I know.”

“In more ways than you realize. It left scars on both of us.”

Steve bites at his lower lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t try to do this.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” He rolls away to set the glass of wine on the bedside table and then turns back, pushing closer to Steve and tugging the notebook out of the way. Catching Steve’s hand, he presses kisses against each knuckle. “We simply need to be prepared to revisit our past. There is ugliness there that neither of us have wanted to face.”

Steve nods. “I know. I’ve set up a new schedule with a SHIELD therapist. If that’s okay.” He looks apologetic, not quite meeting Loki’s gaze. “You can come with me. I’d like you to be there. Not every time, but sometimes. If you want.”

“Then I will.” He smiles and wonders if Steve truly realizes how difficult it will be for both of them to open up those old wounds. He doesn’t know what will happen once they start down that path again; he’s merely hopeful that they can build on the trust they have now and find a way to let it bring them closer rather than drive them apart. 

“Loki.” Steve eases down onto his side and reaches out to pull Loki closer. “Are you sure you want to do this? I know you don’t want it. You never did. We can still decide not to and put it behind us.”

Loki has considered asking for exactly that. “How long would it be before you sought out someone else to give you what I denied you?”

“I wouldn’t,” Steve says fervently.

He silences Steve before he can protest further. “It is better that we do this with purpose and consideration. Together. Anything else leads only to heartache, as it did before.” He pulls Steve in to press a light kiss against his forehead. “This is a chance for us to become more than we are, not less. It will have to be tightly controlled and structured at first, while we learn to trust each other.”

Steve presses closer. “I trust you.”

“You don’t trust me with the part of yourself that wants this.” Leaning back, he catches Steve’s chin and lifts his face. “I’m asking for a chance to earn that trust.”

“It’s me that I don’t trust, not you.” 

“It will take time.” 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Steve asks.

“I don’t want to lose you because of it.”

Steve’s arms tighten around Loki and hold him close. “That’s why you went along with it before, wasn’t it? You wanted me to keep coming back, no matter what it cost you.”

“Yes.” 

There’s a long silence; Steve clings to him. “I am so sorry, Loki.”

“You can make it up to me now.”

“I will.” He shifts, grabbing one of the pillows and tugging it closer so he can lay his head down. “Why don’t we take some time off from SHIELD? We never really had a honeymoon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fury can live without us for a week or two.”

Loki leans forward to press his lips against Steve’s exposed collarbone. “Let’s start right now.” He can’t keep his eagerness out of his voice. For weeks, he’s tried to give Steve space enough to work through his desires, but the lack of intimacy between them has left him starved for it.

“I’ll make the call.” Steve grins as he sits up. “Why don’t you open another bottle of wine?”

Heat already beginning to settle low in his abdomen, Loki collects their wine glasses and leaves the bedroom after Steve. He can hear Steve’s voice, but can’t quite make out the words. By the time he’s selected a bottle of wine from the rack, a Riesling this time, and then a second because he thinks they might need more than one, Steve is sitting on one of the benches beside the fireplace.

“What did Fury say?” he asks as he works the corkscrew.

“That he’ll only call if there’s word from Thor.” Steve looks up, his phone still in his hands as though he’s second-guessing his request. “Should we be worried? About Thor, I mean.”

“I’m quite sure he’s managed to get himself into trouble. But he does that with regularity.”

“Loki,” Steve begins.

“Thor will have to keep himself alive for a few more days. Which, I assure you, he is more than capable of doing. Having tried to kill him myself, I am quite certain of this.” He settles onto the rug in front of the fireplace, placing the wine glasses down carefully before filling them. 

“What…what should we,” Steve begins and then falters. He leaves the bench and his phone, sitting cross-legged on the rug. “How do we start?”

Loki holds out Steve’s glass. While Steve’s hands are occupied, he begins to work the buttons of Steve’s shirt. He doesn’t miss the flush that spreads over Steve’s cheeks. “You have to tell me what you want.” 

“I don’t know how.”

“Ask for one thing thing you want. Just one. And if I am ever uncertain of what you want while we’re having sex, I will ask. We’ll take it a step at a time, for now.”

“Are you…can you?” Steve drags his fingers through his hair. “I can’t…”

Managing not to smile at the half voiced thoughts, Loki finishes undoing buttons and pushes the shirt down over Steve’s broad shoulders. He keeps his touches light, caressing Steve’s arms as he strips away the shirt and continuing to let his fingers play over smooth skin. “I want you to ask for what you want, when you’re ready to ask for it. There is no rush.”

“I think,” Steve says finally. “We should probably start small.”

“Alright.” 

Steve nearly drains his wine glass before continuing. “Why don’t we try something simple for a safe word? Like a traffic light. Green means go and red means stop. That’s easy to remember.”

“Very well. Red means stop.”

Steve licks his lips nervously. “I want you to bind my wrists.” The deep red across Steve’s cheeks makes him look as though he’s just come back from a run.

“I am willing to do that. And once I’ve bound you, what then?” The rest of the wine disappears and the look on Steve’s face makes it clear that he wishes it was working. Taking pity, Loki retrieves the bottle and refills his glass. 

“You’d think I’d give up,” Steve says ruefully as he raises the glass to his lips.

“You needn’t be so nervous.” He moves around behind Steve, curling his fingers over Steve’s shoulders at the base of his neck and working to ease some of the tension that has settled into his muscles. “I am your husband. We have sex regularly. Or rather, up until a few weeks ago, we had sex regularly.” That makes Steve drink more and Loki chuckles; he leans in so his words are a whisper against Steve’s ear. “That wasn’t a complaint. Though I am looking forward to this.”

“This is just…I’m sorry.” Steve rubs at his forehead. “I know I’m being ridiculous.”

“Try to relax.”

“I’ve spent so much time telling myself it’s wrong to want anything like this and that I could never ask you to do this again,” Steve stops, catching Loki’s right hand in his left and pulling it forward, his lips against the inside of Loki’s wrist. “It’s hard to let that go.”

Short blond hair is silken against his fingertips. “You’re afraid that you will end up as before.”

“Yeah.”

“I won’t let you.”

With a timid smile on his lips, Steve leans back until his weight is solidly against Loki’s chest. He twists to set the wine glass aside and then comes back, pivoting so that he is kneeling between Loki’s legs. His hands settle on the outside of Loki’s hips, the warmth of his skin seeping through the denim. A shiver dances along Loki’s lower back when Steve drops his right hand to rub the back of his knuckles lightly against the zipper of Loki’s jeans.

“If you’re hoping to distract me.” Loki grins when Steve looks up. “You have yet to tell me what you want.”

He cups a hand against Loki’s crotch, applying pressure with the heel of his palm as he strokes upward to curl his thumb over the waist band of the jeans. “This is what I want. Before we do anything else, I want this first. May I?”

“Yes.” The breathlessness in his voice betrays him. 

Steve makes quick work of Loki’s jeans, stripping them away. His hands skim the tops of Loki’s thighs. A moan slips out involuntarily when Steve’s tongue rasps against his penis, stirring the heat in his blood and sending it rushing between his legs. It feels as though an impossibly heavy weight is pulling him down and he succumbs, spreading his wings out so he can lean back on his elbows and wing joints. The look on Steve’s face - so attentive and eager to please - is one he hasn’t seen since their darker days. He needs to ask Steve what is going on inside his head in that moment- they need to talk about this - but he can’t get the words to form while Steve is licking and sucking at his skin. His eyes squeeze shut automatically when Steve’s lips close around the head of his cock. Loki shivers at every brush of his tongue and the heat of Steve’s mouth.

“Steve,” he manages, digging his fingers into short blond hair. But Steve is relentless and it’s been too long since they’ve made love for Loki to hold out. He comes with a cry, shuddering at the motion of Steve’s throat as he swallows. His thoughts are scattered. When Steve moves up, fitting himself to Loki’s body, he manages to pull himself together enough to fumble with the zipper of Steve’s jeans. Steve’s lips are a tantalizing distraction; he can almost taste the anticipation for what’s next.

He strips away Steve’s jeans without haste, taking time to caress each curve of muscle and sinew. Catching Steve’s wrists, he climbs to his feet and pulls Steve with him. Holding them close, he kisses each finger and the center of Steve’s palms before he binds them together with an invisible cord. “Why did you want that first?”

“What do you mean?” Steve blinks at him, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Before,” Loki begins carefully. He is uncertain if he should stop entirely and wait until Steve can give him an explanation or if small steps in the right direction will be enough. “You would come to me, submit to me, and the reward you sought was pain. Since we have lived here, together, you have come to our bed as an equal, wanting neither submission nor dominance. I need to understand.”

When he finally answers, his voice is quiet. “I don’t know.”

Loki believes him. “Think on it and give me an answer. Not now, but soon.” The cord of magic responds to his will, rising until Steve’s arms are stretched up over his head and his toes have just left the ground. He lets his hands roam over the body he loves beyond reason. “Tomorrow,” he muses. “I will spend an hour simply worshiping your legs.”

“If I’d known that’s what did it for you,” Steve laughs.

Leaning down, Loki bites at Steve’s ribs, the thin line of Amora’s wound is a pale pink ghost across his skin. “Are you certain that you want this? So soon after. We could start smaller.”

“This is _ours_ ,” Steve says fiercely, understanding Loki’s concern that Amora had tarnished the act.

“Why do you enjoy this so?” Loki skims his fingertips down Steve’s spine. He dots lazy kisses over Steve’s chest, occasionally teasing and tasting with his tongue. “What is it that appeals to you? Is it the pain? Or the lack of control. Is that it? Hanging before me like this, at the mercy of whatever pleasure I wish to take from you. Or is it the taking that you enjoy?”

“It’s…all of that. I guess.” Steve half smiles down at him. “Not having control makes it easier to just feel.” His breath and words catch in his throat as Loki curls his fingers around his cock. He keeps his grip loose, making light strokes.

“What else?”

“It feels…it’s…Loki.”

Loki smirks. “Don’t let me distract you. Tell me what makes you crave this. What need does this fill?”

“It makes it easier to stop thinking. Easier to shut out everything else. Everything in my head. It’s quiet. Makes my mind go quiet. Everything goes quiet. I can finally stop. Stop trying, stop fighting and just…be in the moment.”

It’s a start; Loki doesn’t press further. “Have you decided what you want beyond this?”

Steve hesitates, but only for a moment, licking his lips before answering. “I want you to take me. Hard.”

His own arousal is beginning to return; he won’t need much longer before he is ready again. “How much preparation do you want?”

“I don’t,” Steve answers, his voice low. 

Loki hesitates. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. If it’s too much, I’ll use the safe word. I promise.”

That’s what Loki needs to hear. The basket they’d once kept beside the fireplace, filled with whatever they might need, is now stored more discretely within one of the storage benches. He leaves Steve hanging, swaying slightly, as he retrieves a jar of lubricant. “What else do you want?” 

“That’s all,” Steve answers quickly.

Loki pauses to collect his wine glass as well. “For now?”

“For now.” Steve’s head lowers a little. “I’m not ready to ask you for more.”

On a whim, he dips a finger into the wine glass and moves around in front of Steve, washing wine over Steve’s lips. Steve strains to catch his finger; Loki allows him to suck away the wine. He leaves a trail of wine drops down Steve’s throat, over his chest and stomach, and paints wine over the ridges of his cock. For each drop, he follows behind to lap up the wine with his tongue. By the time he licks away the last drops of wine, his cock is throbbing between his legs. Circling around to Steve’s back, he fills his palm with lubricant, coating himself thoroughly, and tosses the jar aside. _This is their first compromise_ , he thinks as he pushes into Steve’s body, feeling rings of muscle tighten down against the intrusion. 

Steve moans, his breathing ragged. “All the way. Come on. I know you can go deeper than that.”

“You should talk like that during sex more often.” 

“Guess you can just ask me to now, right?” Steve’s voice holds a mixture of uncertainty and hope that Loki finds terribly endearing.

It takes a few thrusts for Loki to find his balance. He hears Steve’s breath turn harsh; muscles flex in Steve’s arms and back as he struggles against the invisible cord. Sweat beads up on Loki’s forehead as he settles into a punishing rhythm and he can feel a drop of sweat sliding down his back; the sound of their skin slapping together is almost as obscene as the way Steve is moaning. He experiments with different grips and angles, adjusting his thrusts to find what combination will finally push Steve over the edge. His hands grip Steve’s thighs and pull him against the anchor point of his wrists hard enough that he can watch Steve strain against the binding. 

“Steve,” he pants, his voice shaky from physical effort. “Tell me you’re alright.”

“Fine, I’m fine. Green, green, still green.” Steve is breathless, his voice rough and his words running together. “Oh god, I’m so close, so close.”

He readjusts, lifting Steve’s hips until there’s a delicious arch to his back. As he tries to shift his balance so he can let go with one hand and reach around, thinking to bring Steve to orgasm, Steve goes rigid. He gasps at the sudden vice grip of Steve’s muscles clenching around his cock.

Steve groans through gritted teeth, arching up as semen sprays out in thick ribbons onto the rug. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He fucks Steve through his orgasm and until he feels the muscles around him begin to loosen again. Unsteady, he eases out, still hard and throbbing. The sensitive skin of Steve’s asshole is red and swollen; he knows Steve is going to be sore for several hours.

“You okay?” Steve murmurs. He looks relaxed and utterly at peace. “Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”

Loki presses his lips against Steve’s chest, tasting salt from the sheen of sweat over Steve’s skin. “I had no idea that you could,” he trails off, strangely tongue tied. 

A fresh blush spreads over Steve’s face. “Me neither, that was a first.”

He claims a kiss, soft and sweet with the wine still on Steve’s breath. Taking his own cock in hand, he sets a slow, easy rhythm that mirrors the rise and fall of Steve’s chest. He knows it won’t be long; he looks up to see Steve watching him with half shuttered eyes and, in that moment, he thinks they might be able to make this work. He holds onto that thought as he shudders and spills out over Steve’s stomach. The invisible binding falls away a moment later, letting Steve down. He wraps his arms around Loki and pulls him tight, kissing and nuzzling against Loki’s neck.

“Once my legs start working again.” Steve’s hands slide to Loki’s hips, keeping them locked together. “I want a shower. With you.”

“I agree.” Loki kisses Steve’s temple gently. “How are your shoulders?”

“A little sore.”

“There is massage oil in the bedroom. For later.”

Steve shivers. “That would be amazing.” He winces a little on the first step, but only smiles when Loki reaches for him; he grabs the second wine bottle on the way to the shower.

Under the steady stream of hot water, it feels almost as though they’re back to normal. Steve’s kisses are sweet and his touches tender, but firm. There is none of the submissive hesitation that seems to be coupled with his desire for pain; Loki wonders about the connection as he washes Steve’s skin clean. Steve has abandoned the need for a wine glass, drinking straight from the bottle.

“I could enchant the wine, if you wish.” Loki smiles against Steve’s neck. “Get you properly drunk.”

“So you can take advantage of me?”

“I hardly need wine for that.”

“And I don’t need you to enchant the wine.” Steve sets the bottle down and wraps his arms around Loki, hooking his fingers over Loki's wing joints. “You are all I need.”

“Such flattery,” Loki muses, nuzzling Steve’s throat.

Steve lays his forehead on Loki’s shoulder. “What do you want? From me. There has to be something you want that I can give you.”

“You do not need to repay me.”

“It’s not that. I want to give you what you need. I want you to be satisfied with me, with us.”

“I am.” Loki brushes a kiss against Steve’s forehead.

The curve of a smile appears on Steve’s lips. “I want you to tell me how hard you want me to fuck you.”

Loki’s pulse skips. “And if I wanted you to fuck me as hard as I fucked you?”

“I think I can do that.” 

“And you won’t worry about hurting me?”

Steve pulls away, a small, enigmatic smile on his lips. “That’s why we have a safe word, right? You’ll tell me if it’s too much and I’ll ease off.” 

“Steve.”

The smile turns a little sad. “I want to do this. I know you’ve wanted…more.” 

He presses his palm against Steve’s cheek, echoing his words. “You are all I need.”

They finish showering in comfortable silence. After toweling off, Steve heads for the kitchen while Loki takes the wine bottle to the bedroom. He settles on the corner of the bed to work the water out of his hair. There’s a tray piled with food in Steve’s hands when he returns. He has slices of herb flavored bread, a plastic container of leftover pasta and vegetables, and another filled with an assortment of cuts of meat. Another bottle of wine is tucked under his arm.

Steve has nearly finished off the pasta by the time Loki is satisfied that his hair is dry enough to weave into a loose braid. He finds the bottle of massage oil in the collection of lotions and lubricants in the bedside table drawer. Setting it within reach, he stretches out on the bed beside Steve. 

“What should we do about Thor?” Steve asks, swallowing a mouthful of pasta.

Loki reaches for the tin of meat and selects a thick slice of smoked ham. “It never ceases to amaze me that you mention my brother while in our bed.” Steve only winks at him, looking entirely unabashed. “In truth, I do not know. There are secret paths into Asgard, but if Amora is to be believed, he is not there. Still, I don’t know where else to start.”

“I want to help. The others will too.” Steve sets the pasta aside and opens up the bottle of wine. “What about Heimdall? Will he help us?”

Loki supposes that calling for Heimdall is the most straightforward approach. “He has shown himself to be an ally of my brother in the past. But I can hardly call him and ask to go home. There is still a death sentence waiting for me should I return. And if Odin has gone mad, he is unlikely to listen to reason. Not that he has ever been known for being reasonable.” 

“Maybe he knows where Odin sent Thor. How would Odin take it if the Avengers came to Asgard?”

“Provided he didn’t throw you all into the dungeons, he might treat you like an unusual collection of farm animals. He has little care for mortals.” Nibbling at a slice of bread, Loki tries to imagine how disastrously that meeting would unfold; he much preferred not to find out. Then again, Tony Stark in the Court of Asgard could be vastly entertaining.

“Sorry for talking shop in bed.” Steve turns his attention from the food to Loki. He reaches out to take a gentle hold of one long primary feather, stroking his fingers down along the edge. 

Steve continues to play with his feathers as Loki eats. It’s just enough to take the edge off of the beginnings of his hunger. Once satisfied, he sets the tray of food and the bottle of wine on the floor. He directs Steve onto his stomach, straddles his lower back, and lathers massage oil over his skin. Steve groans appreciatively when Loki digs his thumbs into dense muscles. He works at the knots and tension until he can feel Steve drift into a deep relaxation; he moves slowly from shoulders to fingers, taking extra care on Steve’s wrists. As he rubs his thumbs into Steve’s palm, he allows himself to acknowledge the relief he felt that the binding had not transferred even a twinge of pain to him. In the back of his mind, he’d feared that Steve would allow himself to be hurt more than he truly wanted. With those fears assuaged, Loki can relax.

“I’m gonna be asleep if you keep going.” Steve’s voice is already slurred and thick.

Loki doesn’t stop. Filling his palm with more massage oil, he returns to Steve’s back and and works his way down. For a moment, he has to marvel at the warm familiarity of Steve’s body; there’s a strange sense of safety, of _home_ , that he’s found in a life with Steve as his husband.

Husband. It seems such a small thing for all its importance to Steve. 

He wonders what Frigga would have thought if she could have met Steve, though he doesn’t wonder that she would have loved Steve as a son. That was a credit to Frigga, who had found it in her heart to love even an abandoned monster. The others, he is sure, would not have given them such a warm reception. Steve’s intentions, as well as the others, are good and he doesn’t doubt their desire to aid in the search for Thor, but he is far less certain that Asgard will be receptive to such an offer. Though perhaps the Avengers’ offer would be received only with laughter, which would be relatively harmless.

“I can hear you thinking,” Steve murmurs.

“I wasn’t aware telepathy was one of your many talents.”

“You were thinking really loud.” He rolls over and motions for Loki to come closer. “Thank you. That felt amazing.”

Loki fits his body against Steve’s and folds one wing over him. “When you ask for me to bind you like that, I will give you a massage.” Seeing the protest forming before Steve can even open his mouth, he continues, “I do it for my peace of mind as much as your enjoyment. And when you are ready to ask for more than simply being bound, I will need a way to ensure for myself that you are alright.”

“That’s what you meant. About taking care of each other after.”

“Yes.”

Settling deeper into the embrace, Steve lifts a hand to brush his fingers over Loki’s hair. “I going to have to owe you a rain check on round two.”

“I shall look forward to it.” He allows himself to relax into the warmth of Steve’s embrace. As an afterthought, he waves a hand and turns off the lights in the bedroom so they can both drift away into sleep.

Maybe, even for him, there can be a happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part will have actual Plot!
> 
> Hopefully caught all the typos. Editing with the flu is not so reliable.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm expecting 2-3 chapters for this particular glimpse into their lives.


End file.
